Tell me in Silence
by Laughing Along
Summary: This is the story of Hiei's struggle to find his voice while coming to terms with his feelings for his sister. Not all that angsty, but not light. I don't think it will be shonenai, but if it turns in that direction, I'll put up a warning.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything but the concept of the story.

**Warnings:** Really, there isn't anything too offensive. I think there's one mild swear word. If

the story takes a questionable direction, I'll put warnings on the individual chapter that seems objectionable.

This story is pretty abstract, thoughand it contains a lot of metaphysical/symbolic edges. So if you aren't into that style, that's ok. I might do more later, and each story will probably have a different tone.

**Begging:** I would love for you to review. You don't have to like my work, but please be

respectful if you don't. Other than that, any feedback is certainly appreciated.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

It was a chilly day, but that didn't stop the young woman from playing outside. She was skipping happily through the snow, tossing it up with her shoes until it caught in her long, tangled hair and in the fringe at the ends of her silky scarf. She was doing it on purpose – he surmised. She liked being cold and wet and sniffling endlessly into the wet, dirty sleeve of her much too light jacket. Skipping skipping, a careless toss of her aquamarine hair. Her laughter sang out through the chill air, shattering the illusion of deadly perfection in a winter storm. The winds reared up a bit – perturbed that their fury was mocked in such sweet, giggling innocence. He bit back a smile – just barely maintaining his stoicism and belatedly making up for the slip by firmly drawing his brows together, scowling ferociously at nothing in particular. She was still laughing, he was still aching to watch, he still had all the time in the world – despite all of that, he turned from her frolicking. He walked a pace or two away and halted with such sudden indecision that for a moment he felt paralyzed. She had started singing. Quietly, out of tune, and with innocent phrasing that bordered on the childish, she was stumbling her way through a song she was making up on the spot. He had never wanted anything more than he wanted to listen. Despite that – or maybe because of it, he resolutely walked on. It had been long enough: maybe too long. He needed to get out of here. Not because he was bored, not because he was expected elsewhere, not because she was too close to discovering him lurking and watching. Because he had been there for a moment or two. Had fulfilled the requirement. And Hiei Jaganshi never did more than exactly that which was required of him.

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He was determined to sort this out. Determined to reach some sort of resolution, and to let down his burdens, if only for a second's respite. The only person who had any hope of helping him was not far from here. He could only trust that the plant wielder would be the fount of insight and advice that he usually proved himself to be. It would not be easy, he knew. But Hiei had built his life on a bedrock of unrest, foundations of pain, and walls of self-flagellation. He would not know how to respond to ease, should he find it. With focused energy he turned himself inward. He needed to plan the words. They were not natural – he was not an articulate man. Nor was he eloquent, nor verbose. Therefore he would map out his telling in the way a careful man maps out a route to a city he does not know. Hiei would not be lost on the winding highways of verbiage and specificity. Resolved, he began quietly speaking, in practice.

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Kurama was reclined on his bed, listening to Hiei's resounding state of speechlessness and picking up on all of the subtle nuances and colorations of quiet, silent, unresponsive, hushed, noiseless, still, and finally – most shockingly – mute, that comprised the larger part of his friend's vocabulary. Finally, he had drawn a picture (from nothingness, he reflected with a wry smile for himself) of what had happened. Of course, with none of the details it would be difficult to voice what he understood only on a basic level that was far deeper than words could ever venture.

"You've upset yourself." He despised using more words than necessary. Grimacing, he noted that such a characteristic likened him to a poet. Hiei's response was to be unresponsive. "You did not expect the event to occur." Further lack of response. "You had built no defenses for yourself – the shock of it left you... confused." Tentatively unresponsive, although it bordered on silence. "Angry." True silence now. "Uneasy." Silence, flavored with a hush. Kurama was fishing, now. "Nervous." Immediately quiet. "Worried." Quickly moving into noiselessness. "Frightened." Stillness. Perfect stillness was his friend's only response. Kurama sighed to himself. So that was it. Hiei was afraid of something and evidently incapable of voicing his fear.

He studied his dark haired friend for a moment – sharing in the stillness. Only one event could ever wring from Hiei's emotions even a flash of muteness – such strength and depth of emotion was nearly unheard of from his dark friend. And he had definitely sensed a mute moment while Hiei had been wordlessly relating his tale. "Yukina." Hiei's eyes flew up to meet the red-head's.

His eyes were screaming a thousand things, his posture screaming a million to the contrary. But Kurama knew that this moment – despite its infinite communications, was a mute one. Just now, right here, Hiei hated Kurama. Hated him with all of his soul, and yet his face was pleading with Kurama, begging him to solve this dilemma with a wave of his sometimes-like-magic flashes of instinct or knowledge or luck.

"Alright. Yes, I see why you choose not to speak of it." And he did. Beneath his masses of brilliant crayola classic hair, Kurama's brain had been steadily clicking along, sometimes faster than others, but always whirring, running, fitting together the pieces. He believed he understood the man before him in his reluctance to voice the problem he faced today.

Something in the fire-demon's face gave him pause. He deciphered the noiselessness with ease, only peripherally noting the conclusion of the muted moment. "Of course you choose. You could put voice to it, could you not?" When met with seething silence he continued. "You have vocal cords Hiei." His patience was running thin.

Hiei looked supremely discomfited. "I could not." He checked the red-head's response, wanting to see if the first words – the only words - he had spoken would be enough. They were not. "I do not make the decision not to speak of it. I cannot."

Kurama evaluated that statement. "Ridiculous." Hiei offered a quiet sound from the back of his throat in response. It wasn't quite a grunt, but it certainly didn't qualify as a murmur or a hum. "Truly. You came to me with the intention of discussing-" the look in his friend's eyes caused him to qualify "-in words, Hiei-" his hopeful gleam faded when the fox spirit blockaded his semantic argument that they _had_ discussed "-whatever it is you fear." Hiei twitched. "You then changed your mind." He thought for a moment, eyes tilted toward the ceiling as though reading an answer from it. "Or rather, your mind changed you." Satisfied, he turned back from the sky to view Hiei. Noting the open-book quiet, Kurama was pleased to verify that in this argument at least, he had emerged the victor.


	3. Chapter 3

Hiei glanced, defeated, at the room in which he was seated. There was nothing to help him describe himself here. He looked briefly to the ceiling, hoping to find written there the kind of easy articulation that Kurama always read on the cracked stucco. Nothing. How could he explain himself? In what manner would the fox understand that Hiei needed something... something tangible, and real, and here in the now to hold onto if he couldn't have his sister. He didn't venture a guess as to what that thing could be. Yukina... her song had upset him. His weakness and indecision had infuriated him. His longing for this... mystery for which he searched was smothering him. But his silences were killing him. He needed to speak, but could not. Wanted to shout but found himself voiceless. Woke up screaming, but not making a sound. How could words choke you? How could your tongue tangle itself in all of its self-imposed immobility to the point that you could not say "I need help"? Yes Hiei needed to find the elusive tangible that he so desired, but even more desperately, he needed to find his voice. He didn't ask for beautiful elegance in speech. Didn't desire words of length and brilliance. He only wanted little words. Everyday words: words that could convey his meanings. Simple words, that would offer him an outlet and allow him the opportunity to say all of the things for which his various silences had been substitute. Shutting his eyes, he leaned back against the bed, constrained by his inabilities and shackled by his need to voice. Kurama understood the silences, he knew. Their every conversation was proof of that. Through the years they had developed a wordless language, one that ran deeper than words and could express the things that vocalizations could never rightly, wholly enfold. Yet Hiei wanted the words. Poor though they were, ineffective though they seemed, and useless when standing against awe, or love, or consuming fear that they were. He wanted to use the words that simply couldn't say what he was meaning. Not because he wanted to be ineffective in communication. Only to give base and balance to his thoughts. He needed to ground his interactions in something true. Solidity, solidarity. Hiei needed these things.

"Hiei?" Kurama was disgruntled to find that while Hiei had been holding his tongue for the last few moments, he had yet to pick up on the small demon's meaning. "Is there a problem?" He couldn't distinguish anything from this quiet – it was as though Hiei were simply not thinking.

Red eyes implored him. Kurama lifted one brow and shook his head ever so slightly. "I don't know what you are asking me, Hiei." It was the first time in their partnership and friendship that they had been unable to understand one another.

Hiei took a long, measuring look at the redhead sitting across the room from him. His eyes took in Kurama's no longer reclining position, he seemed in fact, to be straining toward his friend. He noted that the mossy eyes were not only concerned, but also held the faintest shadow of frustration. Being no stranger to the kind of intense, heated anger that seemed always to follow being thwarted in his expectations, Hiei comprehended that he needed to do something to settle Kurama. Quickly, he settled his silence into a more emotive mode. He filled it with soft, soothing apologies; anger-retardant wry humor; and a light question. _What do I do Kurama?_ It was a still moment, not ringing noiselessness, and not blanketing silence. It was a hush, an inaudible sigh and murmur, the gentlest tranquility known to the friends.

Responding to the suddenly changed timbre of their exchange, Kurama shut his eyes and took two deep breaths, his mouth never quite closing over the exhale. "Hiei... please." Despite the fact that he detested the overuse of words, (and subsequent death of language) that so many people displayed, Kurama could feel that this was a moment for a speech. Without trying in several different ways, he could never describe to his friend what he was having difficulty comprehending himself. He needed for Hiei to do something, to change something, to make a tiny alteration in the ill-fitting suit that was their current situation. But what? He knew thus, that an excess of words was in order. Wincing, he opened his mouth to begin. "Hiei..."

The dark haired demon started forward suddenly – as though he would have yelled "stop!" if he were prone to sudden outbursts. Kurama did stop. Warily pausing in his as yet to be started monologue, steadily buoying the eyes of his companion. The shadow-dancer's gaze was locked on Kurama's; a dying man clutching the hand of his weeping wife. His entire body was tensed, ready to run or fight. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly he raised one hand up between them. It was not quite a halt gesture, nor did it signal for Kurama to come closer. His fingers were curled slightly, palm turned out. As though he were touching some invisible cheek, tracing an imperceptible contour.

"Kurama." The red head lofted one winged brow, but held his questions. "I should say this." He looked suddenly panicked, his eyes frantically begging the red-head not to give up on the blundering attempt. "I need to tell you. Explain!" Widening his eyes momentarily, he immediately snarled in exasperation at the many missteps.

Leaning back against the headboard, the redhead crossed his arms over his chest. "Take your time, please." His melodious voice only agitated the already frenetic fire-demon.

"I... would like to explain to you." He stopped for a moment, hanging his head as he searched for the words. "I am... I cannot figure... My life is..." He bit his lip and looked away. Where were the damnable words? Why must every start be false, every gear shift a stall? Mentally groaning, he turned back to Kurama, prepared for his irritation. The jade eyes held infinite patience. "I am perplexed." There, that fit rather well. Not perfectly, but with a tiny shove and a little wriggle it would settle into place. "I have never spoken to you - with you! Talked!" His eyes were opened to their fullest extent, his mind racing. Where were these words coming from? This was not what he was intending. "I can't use my mouth –tongue – words- around people!" They were tumbling over one another, tangling on his lips and coming out jumbled and inappropriately. Each noun, verb, gerund, adjective... it was a brutal sabotage of speech. Hiei's vocal attempt was failing. He turned expressive eyes to Kurama and fell into a screaming silence that roared out all the things his mouth refused to proclaim.

"Do not, Hiei. I believe that you have begun the speech that I had thought to make. It wants completing. I will wait hours for you to finish these sentences. If you do not, we may never find what you are intending." Hiei's stark suppression of sound beseeched his friend not to ask him for anything more than their usual communicative lack of communication. "This is important Hiei. Please continue." Kurama's voice was so quiet as to be nearly inaudible. He closed his eyes, firmly refusing to participate in their hushed language.

Hiei leaned his face into his hands. "I... I never tell – in words – what I..." His heart was pounding. "That is, I am not..." He felt the blood pulsing through his temples. "What I would... what I might want... My... to say." His vision was fading in and out. "Out-loud. It is gone..." His whole body pounding with tension, he managed only to roll his eyes at the pathetic attempt. What a useless, riddled explanation. Every breath was making him more feverish, every wasted, silent moment driving him farther into uncontrolled mental chaos. Dropping his arms between his bent legs, Hiei looked up through his lashes at his friend, seeking a lifeline. He found Kurama staring at him intently, practically shouting at him to keep going. He had been so close... Screwing his eyes shut he took a long breath. And another. Relaxed every muscle. Swallowed four or five times and pictured the words. Built them in his mind, brick by brick, until they filled him, owned him, consumed him – were all that he knew. It was simple: he could manage nothing more complex. His rumbling baritone was a broken sparrow: hobbled and lame. "Kurama, I cannot find my voice." His eyes drifted gradually open, like waking after hibernation. They were tentatively hopeful. That was exactly what he had been aiming to say... if it wasn't good, if it didn't quite make par – it never would.

Kurama's eyes were closed in appreciation, in relief. Hiei sighed to himself. It would be enough. Just barely, but enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Hiei furrowed his brow. Kurama had yet to open his eyes. Maybe he had misinterpreted? Maybe that one complete sentence had not been good enough after all? He could feel a swirling, chaotic panic rising in him, overtaking his senses one by one. "Kurama." It was a warning to respond, and quickly.

The redhead's eyes flew open with almost supernatural suddenness. He could read in Hiei's expression the fear and panic that was swelling within him – knew that if this revelation were to come to any fruition, he would need to soothe and reassure his little friend. "Hiei-" Kurama stopped. For once in his logical, word-based, articulate existence, the fox could think of nothing to say. The sudden hush seemed to affirm every doubt that was running through Hiei's mind. He burst from his seat at the window and began pacing, stalking through the room like a miniature dust devil. His cloak followed him, a dark shadow tailing his every turn and pace. Kurama, trying to forestall the mental crisis he could practically watch Hiei approaching with every hysterical circle about the room, offered his palms in a feeble command to stop, hold still. He opened his mouth – even now unsure as to what he should be saying. Finally, coming to the decision that to say the wrong thing would be preferable to saying nothing, he began simply to speak.

"Hiei, perhaps we could find your voice." Red eyes rocketed to him, picking up the thread of movement from his now halting feet. Kurama, seeing naked hope written in every feature of his friends face, and hearing it in his hushed, reverent stillness, began to warm to his topic. "Yes... if you would like to enunciate your thoughts or pronounce your feelings – I believe that with patience and effort you could." Hiei was frowning, almost impercptibly. Kurama forged onward. "It would not be easy, but you are capable. With fortitude, dedication, and practice –that is most important- hours of practice, I am sure you could find comfort in speaking." Hiei's look had steadily darkened to one of harsh anger. It was nearer to bitterness than Kurama was used to seeing his friend. Casting his mind about for a possible explanation of this unexpected reticence, the realization fell upon him like the first light snow of the season: slowly and gently. Upon determining the problem, he offered a tiny smile, more anguished than mirthful. "I had not meant to suggest that you should be alone in your struggle, Hiei. I would not give-up our friendship. Nor would I abandon you to labor in solitude. We will find your voice. Together, if you like."

Hiei looked at his friend. The silence stretched for a long moment. He could feel a tension deep within his chest. It tightened around his ribs and stretched him like a rubber band. His breath came shorter, his vision became focused until all he could see were Kurama's bright moss eyes. The weight settling deep in his throat - by his collarbone, was choking him. It was painful. Pulling, stretching. Ripping something deep within him, until pulling him taut until suddenly, rather shockingly, the pressure snapped. Wrapped within his soul, so far below the surface that he hadn't been aware of its existence, some unknown tether broke. Like shattering crystal Hiei spoke quickly "Thank you, Kurama." The words fit so well, so snugly outside of his mind that Hiei marveled that he hadn't found comfort in releasing his thoughts before. "I think we already have."

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A short chapter, I know. sorry!


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